Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 9

promise not to chain you and throw you into Balmer Harbor." He gave Doyle one of his pleasant smiles.
    "You don't got to be like that." Doyle sunk into one of his sulking tones. "We fellows know when we ain't wanted." Then he fell back into his place in my line and was mercifully silent.
    I gave Fairview a smile of thanks. He whispered in my ear, "We should have drowned him before we let him come on this expedition."
    I began to snort with amusement, then caught myself in time. I gave him the slight shove that had meant – ever since we were boys – "We'll talk later, the grown-ups are listening."
    But we were too late. The General had fallen back. I could hear his glare as he said, "Did I, or did I not, give orders for absolute silence during this attack?"
    His voice was far louder than Doyle's had been. The cows we were passing stirred restlessly. My own men stirred even more restlessly at seeing their colonel reprimanded in public.
    "I'm sorry, sir." I knew enough to confine my reply to a whispered apology.
    Fairview, though, tended to lose his common sense when I was the one being reprimanded. "Sir, one of Colonel Rook's men—"
    "Colonel Rook is responsible for the actions of his men." The General raised his voice further. I wondered at what point Colonel Tice, who was assigned the job of guiding our force up the hill, would fall back and join the dispute. A cow, nervous, backed into the cow behind her.
    If this continued, we'd have a stampede on our hands soon. I was struggling with a way to speak up to the General – Major-General R. Talbert Pentheusson, son-in-law to our Commander-in-Chief, and the youngest man of his rank in the Allied Armies of the Dozen Landsteads – and tell him that he should shut his bloody mouth and let more experienced veterans of older wars handle matters he was incompetent to handle... But of course I couldn't say anything like that. So I tried saluting silently, hoping he would follow suit where silence was concerned.
    I don't know whether he would have, for at that moment, we heard the white spaniel.
    Perhaps it was a child's pet, though it was large enough to serve as a watchdog. Certainly it seemed to feel that this was its mission. It was yipping at the top of its lungs, darting in to nip at the heels of my men, then dashing away and yipping some more.
    The cows looked ready to flee. The farmhouses were still close behind us.
    "Shoot him," ordered the General, sounding understandably concerned at this turn of events.
    I refrained from reminding him that our rifles were unloaded, by his orders. Instead, I pointed out the reason for the empty rifles: "A rifle-shot would wake the locals, sir."
    "Well, bayonet the cur, then! Do something!" The General edged out of the way as the dog tried to nip at his heels.
    One of my soldiers – Lexington, I think it was – threw a rock. It missed the dog and hit the General squarely on the thigh. Amidst the General's far-too-loud curses, Doyle darted forward.
    "I'll take care of this," he announced to all the officers present. "Here, girl. C'mere, girl. That's a good girl."
    I didn't ask him how – in the darkness and the mist – he could tell that the spaniel was a bitch. The spaniel, half-hidden in the fog, had paused and was staring at Doyle. Then she made up her mind and trotted happily up to where Doyle crouched, his hands outstretched.
    Doyle fondled her ears; she consented to this, blessedly silent. Fairview, always quick off the mark, had obtained a bootstring from his soldier-servant; Doyle gently wrapped the string around the dog's neck and led the little guard away, making soothing noises to it.
    "Fine," said the General, huffing his frustration. "We continue. Colonels, make sure your men are silent from this point forth."
    I could still hear Doyle crooning at the dog in the distance. I declined to make any promises. The General walked forward, muttering about insubordination.
    I exchanged looks with Fairview. He leaned over and whispered, "Maybe we could toss him in the harbor."
    I suppressed a roar of laughter that would have awoken every Mippite within cannon range.
    CHAPTER 2
    THE SYSTEM BREAKS DOWN
    A commentator's reflection on the events at Spy Hill:
    "The unquestioning subordination of the private judgment, the self-sacrificing obedience prescribed by the military code of duty, presupposes a certain minimum of intelligent direction on the part of those in supreme command. If that is wanting the moral foundation of the